HEARTS' EASE.
Foreign travel, association with Malcolm Graham, and abundant
opportunity in Paris, London, and Scotland, for improvement, had done
much for Roland. It was seen in his daily life, in his professional
career, and in the polished grace always attendant upon a
highly-cultivated mind, and a heart purified by holy principles.
Roland was henceforth among the leading members of the younger
barristers of the great metropolis; for although but few could be
found to adopt his principles of action, none failed to respect his
character.
Mr. Thornly's patronage was generously extended to the young man, and
the society met at his house was from among the choice families of
the crowded city.
Edgar was still cheering his father's heart by the evident
improvement in his moral character, and earnest devotion to study.
Mr. Thornly could never forget the debt of gratitude which he owed to
Roland; and for Helen, alas! it had been a dangerous privilege to
dwell in the house with Roland Bruce.
He is now a prosperous man--but does he forget the humble friends who
had sheltered him in the days of his deep adversity? No--for no
sooner had he returned to New York than he remembered Richard and
Martha Green.
Prosperity warms and expands a noble heart, and only chills the
sordid--and from the open purse of this child of Providence, many
liberal donations found their way to the "News-Boys' Home." A
valuable library now filled the book-case in the reading-room, and
none knew the generous donor; but no boy spending his quiet evenings
in useful reading could experience half of the delicious pleasure
that Roland enjoyed, when sitting among them, hearing and answering
their questions; remembering that his means had contributed the
larger number to the shelves.
Roland's name often appeared in the public prints in connection with
important law cases, and never without abundant praise; but
remembering the source whence all came, he was not high-minded, but
grateful; for it was God who gave him intellectual power and
influence; the God who in one moment could lay his finger on that
active brain, and produce universal chaos.
Entering the reading-room one evening, Roland perceived a stranger,
evidently a gentleman, sitting at the table; he raised his head on
Roland's entrance.
"Why, Stanley! is this you, my good fellow? Where did you come from?"
"I have been in New York some time, Roland, pursuing my studies; and
seeing your name in the papers, I have been trying to trace your
steps. I am interested in these good works, and coming to visit this
institution, I found that you were among its laborers, and have
waited to see you."
"It does me good, Stanley, to see your honest face once more."
"And I am no less glad to meet you, Roland," shaking him heartily by
the hand; "I was a wild chap in those college days."
"Yes, Stanley; but you were a whole-hearted fellow, even when you
were doing wrong."
"Those days are over, Roland,--what would you say if I were to tell
you that I am now among the saints, though the very humblest of them
all?"
"What would I say, Stanley? Is it really so? Give me your hand,
your old honest grasp, and let me clasp it as a Christian brother.
How was it, Stanley? Tell me all about the great change."
"It is told in a few words--the first sermon that I ever really
heard, was preached at my sick-bed, by one who lived the
Christian--it sank right down into my very soul; it spoke volumes to
me; it haunted me night and day; for then I began to feel that I
really was a miserable sinner. I tried to silence the voice, but it
spoke deeper, louder. It followed me into the very dens of
dissipated city life. God be praised that it did! I could obtain no
rest. Suddenly, I gave up my evil ways, and my bad companions; and
at a supper, where many of them were gathered, I publicly renounced
them all--they were amazed; they tried the power of ridicule; but
they knew Stanley, and soon left me to myself. I found peace in
Jesus, and I am not ashamed, Roland, of the gospel of
Christ--unworthy as I am, I am preparing to be an ambassador of him
whom I once derided and persecuted."
For a moment Roland was silent. He remembered the earnest, fervent
prayers, which he had poured out in behalf of Stanley; the answer had
been long delayed, but it had come at last. They left the room arm
in arm, Christian brothers. Roland was full of joyful anticipation,
for he knew the earnest character of this young man, and believed
that, like a second Paul, he would preach the everlasting gospel.
Introducing him into the family of Mr. Thornly, he was frequently in
his society, and found what he had long desired, a fellow-laborer in
his Master's cause.
Helen was interested in the bold young champion of truth, for she was
herself becoming daily more devoted to the cause of the Redeemer,
less assimilated to the spirit of the world. With her father's full
consent, she took an open stand with the friends of Jesus, and from
that day, her course was upward and onward in the Christian life.
Madeline occasionally visited New York on business, for she was still
engaged in writing her little books--entirely separated from the gay
world, not only by her mourning dress, but by deliberate choice, she
was only found in the domestic circles of intimate friends. She was
still annoyed by the public attentions of Henry Castleton, for
personal vanity had made him blind to the positive aversion of his
cousin Madeline.
Lavinia is now on a visit to New York, and is spending an evening at
Helen Thornly's, in company with a few friends, among whom is Henry
Castleton. The conversation turns upon a party where the two had met.
"Really!" said Lavinia, with a toss of her proud head, "go where you
will, one must meet with the parvenues of society; did you observe
that Miss Digby dressed out in her diamonds and point lace, for such
a small social party?"
"Yes," replied Harry, "I could scarcely restrain a smile, when I was
introduced to her; who is she, Miss Raymond?"
"She is the daughter of old Digby, the great confectioner; he has
retired from business, and lives in grand style, with his carriages,
and his town and country house; but you can see the vulgarity of the
people, for who but a Digby would ever have thought of diamonds at
such a party?"
"And who was that little Miss Austin? I mean the one dressed in
simple white, seated in the corner?" asked Lavinia.
"I don't know," was Harry's reply, "but she was evidently a lady; so
quiet! so refined! with such a low sweet voice, and dressed in such
excellent taste--did you observe how much attention was paid to her?"
"Yes, I wonder who she is; the Browns, the Starrs, and the Carsons
were very polite to her; and you know that they are really our first
people; she must be somebody, for she had such a distinguished air."
Helen let them run on with their folly, and then quietly remarked
with a meaning smile,
"Miss Austin is a governess in the family of the lady whom you were
visiting; her father was a sea-captain, and her mother conducted a
young ladies' school for many years; indeed, until her death; her
daughter, who is highly accomplished, is obliged to earn her own
living--she is a lady of great worth and intelligence, and, happily,
is with a family who knows how to value such gifts."
Helen and Madeline were both amused at the disconcerted expression
upon the faces of Harry and Lavinia.
"Really!" said the latter; "I never was more mistaken in all my life,
for I took her for a lady of high rank."
"What are we coming to?" responded Harry, "when the daughters of
confectioners and teachers can aspire to mingle with the best
circles? I should not wonder if shoemakers and tailors would creep
in. Indeed, I have met with one who was formerly a common boot-black
in society where _I_ visit; I am amazed at his presumption, for
Roland Bruce was nothing more."
Madeline could restrain herself no longer--for although Helen tried
to hold her down, she arose with dignity from her chair, while a
crimson glow covered her whole face, and regardless of the presence
of strangers, she said,
"And do you presume, Harry Castleton, to look down upon such persons
as Miss Austin and Roland Bruce? you, with your empty head!" (and she
tapped her pretty head with unconscious scorn,) "and they with their
noble character, and brilliant powers of intellect--I am sorry for
you, Harry, with such a _pretty little figure!_ and such a _paltry
little soul_! Will it ever grow beyond a pigmy's? Roland Bruce will
shine among the great and good, when you are entirely forgotten."
Harry withered beneath her rebuke; and even Lavinia, whose lip curled
in contempt, for the moment looked awe-struck.
Madeline stood with her back to the door, facing the glass; she was
too much excited to look forward, or she would have seen the figure
of Roland standing irresolute at the door, for he had heard all; and
stood, not knowing whether to advance or retire.
It was a picture for an artist, as he appeared listening to the
impassioned words bursting from the lips of Madeline Hamilton.
Roland towering above all present in height, with his broad expansive
brow, on which sat enthroned a lofty intellect, the signet of true
nobility; his fine dark eye, and firm, but sweetly expressive, mouth,
his cheek glowing with the feelings of the moment; and Madeline, in
all her youthful grace and beauty, with cheek suffused, and burning
eye, her hand extended towards Harry Castleton, who durst not raise
his eyes to hers--the room was silent--suddenly Madeline raised her
eyes, and in the mirror opposite she saw the figure of Roland
standing behind her, and covering her blushing face with her hands,
she sat down, overwhelmed with shame. Roland advanced, with great
dignity, towards Helen Thornly.
"Will you favor us with some music, Miss Helen?"
She advanced, glad to break the painful silence.
Roland did not, for some minutes, approach Madeline; he understood
her feelings, and spared her the pain of drawing any further notice
towards the sorely mortified girl. When a suitable opportunity
offered, he quietly took his seat by her side; he saw that she was
suffering, for whenever she raised her eyes, they were moistened with
tears, and her lips trembling with emotion.
"Do not distress yourself, Madeline," whispered the young man, "be
calm if you can; if you cannot, I will lead you to the other room."
"Don't speak to me, Roland, I an ashamed of myself; such a burst of
passion in this public place! I wish I were in my room; I am not fit
to meet this provoking young man."
"I thank you for the generous defence; but another time, Madeline, I
will say more to you about it."
"You despise me, Roland, I know that you do; for I despise myself."
"Despise that warm and generous heart, Madeline! Never! do not
entertain the thought for one moment; but I must leave you now; we
are too much observed. I will call to-morrow, if you will walk with
me to the Battery."
Crossing to another part of the room, he found himself near Lavinia
Raymond, and bowed politely.
"Miss Thornly sings well, does she not, Miss Raymond?"
Lavinia looked surprised, as though not acquainted with the
gentleman, and made no answer.
"Her voice is very sweet, and she sings with much feeling," he
continued.
Miss Raymond deliberately turned her back, murmuring, "Impertinent!"
and crossed to the other side of the room.
Roland smiled, for Madeline's warm and generous defence had filled
his heart with secret rapture, although he could have wished that it
had not drawn upon her so much notice.
The evening passed unpleasantly, for Madeline's mortification and
self-reproach were too deep to be easily forgotten; she had exposed
herself in the presence of so many witnesses, had given way to an
unchristian burst of temper, publicly wounded a cousin whom she
should have tried to benefit, and, she was sure, must have lost the
respect of Roland Bruce.
Roland's quiet dignity of manner had won for him golden opinions, and
Harry had failed again in humbling the man whom he both feared and
hated.
Lavinia was again disappointed; for the company generally had treated
the one with marked distinction, the other with entire forgetfulness
and contempt.
Late in the afternoon of the next day Roland called; Madeline was
ready, but shy, reserved, abashed.
They walked almost in silence until they reached the Battery; then
seating themselves under the shade, Roland addressed the mortified
girl,
"What is the matter, Madeline? you seem so silent; are you displeased
with me?"
"No; not with you, but with myself; I thought that I had learned to
control my impulsive temper, Roland; but I find that I have made no
progress. I own that I was all wrong yesterday, but I have done the
same before; and on the first provocation, I am tempted, and overcome
again."
"Your motive, Madeline, was noble; and, as Miss Austin was not
present to defend herself, it was generous in you to be her champion."
Madeline looked her thanks to Roland, for she saw how he was trying
to reconcile her to herself, and understood the delicacy with which
he approached the subject.
"For myself, Madeline," and he spoke in lower tones, "you were always
the same noble, frank, and generous friend; but you will allow me
also the privilege of a friend; you know I have always laid a gentle
rein upon your neck, Madeline; and you formerly yielded to the
friendly check; may I still do the same?"
"Say all that you think, Roland, fully, freely, as you used to do;
only don't excuse me."
"I wish that you would learn to restrain those open expressions of
your feelings; they make you enemies, and they are not in accordance
with the spirit of the Gospel."
"I know it, Roland; I am so glad that you do not praise me; I should
not respect you if you did; but how am I to become meek and lowly?
I, passionate! proud! wilful Madeline? I want to be humble, I long
to be holy."
Roland took the little hand gently, kindly, as of old, and held it
between his own; bending his eyes upon the ground, he repeated,
"'Come, learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you shall
find rest unto your soul.'"
"How, Roland, can I learn of Jesus?"
"Sit at his feet every day, Madeline; study his holy character, pray
for his blessed spirit; you have trusted him with the justification
of the immortal soul; trust him also in the work of sanctification;
he is the author of both; of the former by himself; of the latter by
his spirit."
She bowed her head, and wept.
"O, Roland! sometimes I fear that I am not among the justified ones;
if I were, would not the fruits be more manifest?"
"Have you any hope of Heaven apart from Jesus, Madeline?"
"No, Roland, 'Jesus only,'" and this she said with deepest feeling.
"That is faith, Madeline, and it is faith that justifies; this faith
works godly sorrow for sin, earnest longing for holiness, deep
humiliation; do you not experience these?"
Madeline looked up through her tears with such a smile of hope--
"Yes, Roland, ever since yesterday I have been in the dust, repenting
of my sin, and longing, praying for holiness; and then I am so sorry
for Harry Castleton; I wounded him so deeply, I behaved so
shamefully."
Roland, looked upon the weeping girl, almost with the feelings of a
parent towards a child; there certainly was compassionate tenderness
in his face, and lowly reverence in that of Madeline, as he laid his
hand in blessing upon the drooping head.
"I am going to ask Harry's pardon, Roland; I cannot be happy until I
do; and then, by God's help, I will never be unkind to him again; he
is not gifted like some others, and it was mean to reproach him with
it; I know that he has always loved me, and I ought to be grateful;
is it not strange that it makes me so angry, when it is not so with
some others--I wonder why it is, Roland?" and the artless look with
which she uttered these innocent words, caused a smile to pass over
his face, for she was a child in some things yet.
"Is not this pleasant talk? just like 'Auld Lang Syne,' Roland, when
you used to lecture little Mad-cap, and when she used to like the
lectures so much better than other people's praises."
"Yes, it is too pleasant, Madeline; I wonder if you have cherished
the mementoes of those childish days as I have? do you know this
handkerchief, Madeline?" and Roland took out of his pocket a soiled
cambric handkerchief, stained with blood.
She looked at him with great surprise.
"Why, where did you get that dirty handkerchief?"
"Don't you remember the first day that we met upon the shore, that
you wiped my face with your handkerchief? I have kept it ever since,
and would never have it washed; to-day I was looking among some old
relics, and put it in my pocket, intending to place it again among my
treasures."
Madeline blushed as she looked at the handkerchief, and smiling, she
said,
"They were very happy days; what a merry child I was! so spoiled! so
wilful! I wonder if I am any better now."
"You were a very charming child, Madeline, and I never can forget the
little friend of the sea-shore. Here is another relic!" and he held
up a lock of golden hair, which she had given him in those childish
days.
"Were we not very happy, Roland? now I am so much older--we have both
seen sorrow, you the most; and I too have tasted of the cup--and now
it is so solemn to live, Roland, to have the charge of so much
property, and to be responsible as a steward for all that God has
given to me. Papa told me that I might choose my own guardian; I
have no male relations, and no one but you--will you not take charge
of my estate, Roland?"
"It is a great responsibility, but I cannot well decline it; I shall
be but too happy if I can serve you."
"I want some one to teach me how to take care of it, and how to use
it for the good of my fellow-creatures. I saw such a beautiful
example in the Countess of N---- and her noble husband; they seemed
just to live to do good to their own family, and the people all
around them. I have commenced my little school again, and it is
growing fast; I shall soon want a teacher; then I must have a
reading-room for the factory-men, a missionary for the neighborhood,
and, after a while, a dear little church of my own."
Roland listened to the young enthusiast with a glowing heart, for she
was running on with a smiling face, and such an earnest, happy
expression.
The tears were gone--April had passed, and smiling May fanned its
breezes around the two, as they sat under those shady trees.
She was playing with a sprig of hearts'-ease while she was talking.
"What a sweet flower you have, Madeline!"
"Yes, it is one of my favorites; I have so many at Woodcliff."
"Won't you give it to me, Madeline?"
"What! my hearts'-ease, Roland! There, take it; I wish it were not
so faded."
Placing it in a button-hole of his coat, he smiled as he said,
"That is an emblem of yourself, Madeline, or what you used to be--my
own little hearts'-ease."
"Well, truly! Roland Bruce paying compliments! Take care, good sir;
don't become a flatterer."
"I speak truth, Madeline; but let us talk a little more about this
trust that you wish me to undertake--are you very careful about your
accounts, Madeline? you should make a regular entry of every day's
expenditure, calculate your income, put apart so much for your
charities, and so much for your daily wants--but never run into debt."
Madeline began to smile.
"Well, good sir! it seems so funny for little Mad-cap to be sitting
here listening to a lecture from her guardian, little Roland of the
Maple Lane School--you are getting on pretty fast, I think, and it
will not be long before we hear that eloquent speech that I have so
often talked about."
Roland was suddenly depressed; for when he looked upon the young
heiress of so large an estate, and himself, her guardian, he felt
more than ever repelled from thoughts that would sometimes rise up in
his heart with visions of domestic bliss.
There was so much of artless, tender interest in Madeline's manners,
that often the thought would cause a thrill of rapture as hope
whispered, "She loves me, this peerless child of Nature! this fresh,
guileless young heart! But it cannot be--be silent, foolish heart!
But it is a joy to guide, to counsel, to comfort, even to hear her
voice," and gradually he sank into silence.
Madeline's spirits were gay--taking Roland's arm, they walked home
quietly together.
It had been a happy hour! But Roland awoke as from a dream, when
Madeline named her property; with that, came the incubus that always
lay as a shadow between him and his darling's warm young heart.
Chilled by its icy breath, he remained quiet.
"Why are you so silent, my good sir?" inquired Madeline; "it seems
that you have left all your spirits at the Battery."
"I was looking some very painful thoughts right in the face,
Madeline; there are some things that I must get accustomed to, but it
is not an easy task."
"Can I help you, Roland?" and she turned a kindly look upon his
troubled face.
"_You_, help me, Madeline! No--it is beyond your power," and he
looked deeply pained.
"There is nothing, Roland, that I would not do, to lighten your
cares, if I only knew what they were."
"Never mind, my good little friend, there is a refuge for every care;
I have tried it very often, and it has never failed--no, not once."
By this time, they had reached the door of Madeline's stopping-place.
"Good evening, Madeline, God bless you!"
"I shall see you to-morrow, Roland--shall I not? I will then tell
you all about Harry."
"Yes, I will see you,"--and Roland turned away to kiss the sweet
little bunch of hearts'-ease, murmuring, "not for me! would that she
were penniless;" while Madeline went up-stairs, humming a low, soft
tune, as she whispered, "What a dear, kind guardian!" Would she have
echoed Roland's wish, had she known this to be the only barrier
between two pure young, loving hearts?
True to her sense of right, she sent a short note without delay to
Harry Castleton, requesting the favor of an early call next morning.
Harry loved Madeline as much as his weak nature would allow him to
love any one beside himself, and had borne much contempt from her
even meekly; therefore, he obeyed the summons, wondering what change
had come over his proud cousin.
"I sent for you, Harry, to apologize for my conduct; I am heartily
ashamed of it--it was unwomanly, unchristian, and uncalled for. I
hope, Cousin Harry, that you will forgive me; you know what a proud,
high temper I have, and must attribute all that I said to that
infirmity."
Harry looked amazed--he had never before seen Madeline so humble
herself to any body, and he wondered what it really could mean.
"I was to blame too, Madeline; I know how my speeches provoke you,
and I believe that I uttered them for that very purpose. I receive
your apology freely, I hope that you will accept mine. I cannot help
my feelings about Roland Bruce, for I do believe that it is he only
that prevents your return of my warm affection."
Madeline bit her lip, for hasty words were coming again, but she
restrained them, and replied,
"You are mistaken, Harry, I feel for you the interest of a cousin;
nothing else could possibly be entertained; but you will never have
to complain again of unkind conduct at my hands; I have been too
deeply humbled. I do wish you well, cousin Harry; I would like to
see you caring more for better things; then at least, you would have
my respect."
"Madeline, if you had always been thus kind, I might have been a
better man; your scorn has embittered me; but words like these soften
my heart, and waken better feelings, even in vain and trifling Harry
Castleton."
They spent an hour in friendly conversation, and Madeline was greatly
relieved, when she parted amicably from her cousin.
A familiar step soon followed upon Harry's departure, and Madeline,
with her own mischievous smile, said,--
"Now, Roland, have I not been a good girl? I made an humble apology
to Harry, for all my naughty ways, and I think that my venerable
guardian must be satisfied with his protégé."
Roland smiled, and answered,
"Follow out your own convictions of right at once, Madeline, as you
have done in this case, and you will not go very far astray."
"I would have done the same willingly before all that room full,
Roland, that they might have known how heartily ashamed I was?"
Roland looked upon this fascinating combination of innocent, frank
child-nature with true earnest womanhood, and felt convinced that the
world would never spoil this fresh young soul.
"You look very sad, to-day, good sir; has any thing happened to
distress you?"
"Nothing now, Madeline; I have only had to tame down some wild,
ungoverned fancies."
"Here are some of my papers ready for my sage guardian; when I get
home, I will send the rest."
Roland winced again; for this bundle of parchment reminded him of the
night's sore struggle--he could not now see Madeline with the mere
regard of a true friend, for the silent hours of midnight communion
had fully revealed the state of his heart.